When Buttholes Strike: Workplace Edition
by Ayah Papaya
Summary: Ever worked with someone who made a certain part of your anatomy pucker? Someone who somehow knew exactly which buttons to push on the vaccuum, when you had a hangover? If so, then this bud's for you!  Full summary in chapter one! Please read and review!


****All recognizable characters are the intellectual property of Mrs. Stephenie Meyer, or their respective owners. The plot and the other characters are the intellectual property of ME. No part of this fanfiction may be reproduced without my permission. No monetary gain is being made from this work.****

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><p>When Assholes Attack: Workplace Edition<p>

_A series of hilarious oneshots featuring our favorite characters, surviving assholes in the workplace. Each chapter will have different characters, doing different jobs, and are capable to stand on their own. Will be updated sporadically, whenever I have a spectacular day at work. Will be more often than you think, since 95% of my coworkers are assholes._

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><p><em><strong><em><strong>Definitely trying something different here. I think it's more therapeutic, than anything... If you have any great workplace experiences that you'd like to share with the class, be sure to drop me a line!<strong>_**_

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><p><em><strong>BPOV<strong>_

"_Your call is important to us. All customer service representatives are currently assisting other customers..."_Anyone who has ever worked retail will understand that hearing those words, while standing downwind of an angry customer, can be dangerous. Deadly even. I hoped that my situation had a good prognosis, but judging by the way she was clicking her tongue, and shifting her weight, I'd still end up shit on her shoe.

My eyes flicked upwards, and was rewarded with Rosealie Hale's "über bitch" glare. Caught staring, She sighed heavily, and reluctantly turned away. The last thing I needed tonight, was to be harassed by the store's only blond bombshell _asshole. _She only pretended to be a human being, with feelings, as a hobby. I swear to God, if she wasn't fucking my boss' brains out, on a regular basis, I'd beat the shit out of her, with her own designer shoes.

I mean, honestly, if you worked in a glorified video store, would you wear Louboutins? Do her three inch, spiked heels offer her better traction when she's mopping the store's tiny bathroom floor? She wouldn't know; I'm the only one who does it. Biotch.

"_Your call is important to us..."_ I sighed, and nervously tugged on my lanyard. One of the buttons pinned to the string stabbed me, and I hissed. Could this day get a little worse? I should know better than to ask that—of course it can!

"Look, Miss..." My customer started, "I don't mean to be rude, but, I really have somewhere to be." She tapped her fake nails incessantly on the cheap, formica counter, and with each click of her digits, I felt a little piece of me die inside. I fucking hated this place with a passion, and short of hitting the lottery, there wasn't a thing that I could do about it. "It's just a DVD, for Christ's sake. Can't you just give me my money back?"

"_Please continue holding, and your call will be answered in the order in which it was received."_

"Unfortunately, Miss Stanley, our return policy, here at Eclipse Records, is that any open, non-defective, DVD return must go through customer service." Feeling my blood pressure spike, I began to take cleansing breaths, and let my eyes scan over the mostly empty store. Jasper was helping someone over in the country section, and Alice was restocking the R&B section, but, for the most part, the store was having a quiet night. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen Emmett, the store manager, since he begged off, to hit the Apple store, over an hour ago.

"_Due to unusually high call volume, please expect a hold time in excess of..."_ I sucked in a breath, hoping for the best, but planning for the worst, _"fifteen minutes."_

'Why didn't I finish college?' I asked myself, as I swung my lanyard anxiously.

Rosalie caught my eye again, and I felt my blood boil. What the fuck was her _problem?_ Couldn't she see that I was handling a customer service issue, and not just sitting on the phone dialing random 900 numbers? Did it _look _like I was getting off over here?

So preoccupied was I, shuffling from foot to foot, swinging my heavily decorated lanyard that I didn't hear my name tag separate. I didn't even see it fly, until it landed in über-bitch's fresh, hot coffee. It touched down with a mighty splash, and had chosen a moment where she was actually (gasp) doing something other than stare at me. I quickly pulled it out of her drink, and used a small stack of cheap tissues to mop up the mess. Of course the box was empty, before I was finished, but I had some old McDonald's napkins in my purse, and was able to finish the job.

As luck would have it, she was all the way over in the Christian Rock section. Her patron better be careful. If Rosalie stays there too long, the ceiling might fall in on her. She's the poster child for premarital sex, and the anti-Christ, all rolled into one neat little package.

At least with her on the other end of the store, she'd now be none the wiser. A wicked smile crept up my face, and my customer looked from my obviously filthy name tag, to me, to the oh-so-innocent coffee cup, sitting at the edge of the cash register. All I could do was wink at her, and hope that she didn't rat me out, if Rose came for a caffeine fix.

Unbeknownst to everyone, last time I went to pee, my name tag had slipped from my back pocket, and onto the dirty bathroom floor. Her coffee consistently smelled like pisswater anyway, so I doubted that her mocha choke-ah double frappe latte extra-nonfat supreme would taste any different with a little extra...flavor.

I almost felt bad that I ate the yogurt she put in the mini-fridge, for her lunch break. Almost, but not quite.

"_**Miss!**_" My asshole customer roared, earning nervous glances from everyone both in the store, and wandering the mall. "If you don't give me my MONEY back, I'm calling the cops! You can't keep my money! It's _stealing_!"

'Jesus H. Christ,' I thought to myself, as I held the phone to my ear. I pinched the bridge of my nose, and looked up at my customer, growing more irate by the second. I had the sudden urge to shoot laser beams from her eyes, but alas, I'd have to mop the floor when I was done. _So_ not worth the mess.

"Nobody told me it would be _this_ fucking hard to get my money back!" She groused angrily, as I continued to wait on hold. Nothing she could say would surprise me, after eight years in this shithole, I'd heard it _all_. "If I'd known, I never would have bought this stupid DVD here in the _first_ place!" She reverted to her previous impression of a megaphone, and I quickly grew tired of listening to her be a crazy bitch.

Really, it was her own fucking fault for buying a "Big Time Rush: Live in NYC!" DVD. Anyone over the age of 12, who still listened to BTR, needed to be dragged out into the street and put in the stocks. _Really!_ I'd build them myself, if I had to...

She had to be close to my age, 26, at the very least. Old enough to buy fake breasts, nails, and a tramp stamp that said "JUICEY". I could only hope she misspelled it on purpose. Maybe she was intelligent, after all, and was trying to avoid copyright infringement. The "J" had been very fancy, and very much like the actual label, so I doubted it. The tattoo artist who did it was probably just as stupid as she.

Was it too late to bleach out my mind?

"Come _on_, bitch! I got shit to do!" She pounded the counter with her charm bracelet encrusted wrist, and made the display of mints go tumbling down the counter, and onto the floor. Fucking whore! Alice, who was now watching the scene with rapt attention, laughed loudly, as the little metal containers scattered onto the asbestos tile floors. She buried herself into Jasper's shoulder, and I shot them both death glares. As soon as I disposed of BTR biotch; my coworkers were next.

Feeling my rapidly disintegrating sanity reaching an end, I calmly spread out her receipt. Pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder, I rummaged through the brown plastic pen-thing for a red writing implement. Taking pen to paper, I almost felt myself begin to write "FAIL", in big red letters, beneath where the printout of the store's return policy proudly sat. Sensing the need to keep my job, at least in the near future, I circled it instead.

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><p>RETURN POLICY<p>

All DVDs, Movies must be returned within 30 days of the Invoice date. All returned DVDs, Movies must be in brand new condition (unopened, still in its plastic wrap). All opened non-defective returns will be refused at customer's cost, or at the discretion of a customer service representative. For defective and wrong shipped DVDs / movies, we will offer refund at its original purchase price only, no replacement is offered. For wrong shipped DVDs / movies, they must be returned in the original brand new condition, never opened and still in its plastic wrap.

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><p>"I still don't see what that has to do with me." She said, as she recrumpled the badly abused receipt and threw it in my face. A sharp corner of the paper hit me squarely behind the lens of my glasses, and poked me in my eye.<p>

"Ouch!" I groaned, and quickly removed my glasses, and rubbed my wounded eye. As if things couldn't get any worse, which, as I said before, they could, I heard a familiar voice call my name.

"Excuse me, Bella." Her voice was as icy and shallow as her demeanor, "I know you're just sitting there twiddling your thumbs, but if you get a minute, there's someone in Classical/New Age, who really needs some help." Meanwhile, there are three other associates in the store, doing absolutely nothing. Why was my TOP priority to handle the fruitcake hanging around classical?

Anyone?

She walked a few steps away, before she turned back around, and grabbed her coffee with both hands. My customer and I both watched her with rapt attention, and I held my breath, hoping that the silly, BTR listening bitch wouldn't rat me out.

"By the way, Bella," She said snidely, cradling her coffee as if it were her child. Or her precious Louboutins, for that matter, "If Emmett finds out that you're taking personal phone calls on the store phone, while there are customers waiting to be helped, he'll fire your ass for sure." She grinned as she took a big, long sip of her premo-yuppie coffee, and saucily sauntered away.

I hope that pisswater doesn't go straight to your borderline fat ass, you bitch.

_"Your call is important to us, please continue to hold..."_

"AARGH!" I groaned, and turned to face my customer, about to apologize for the wait. I noticed that she had both her eyes fixed on Rose's cup, and there was a small smirk on her face.

Rose had made quite a dent in that silly, overpriced coffee of hers, and I was confident that I'd be able to take a piss, directly in her cup, if need be. It had been sitting on the register for over an hour, and looked pretty tepid. A little piss might even warm it up some. The way my night was looking, I might have to. God forbid, should I leave to pee, and then someone from customer service picked up. I grabbed my water bottle, and quickly chugged the contents, while my customer stood still. She was stunned into silence by both my silence, and my bitchy coworker drinking coffee with a side of taint.

"Can I at least get something to eat while you're on hold?" My customer asked with disdain. It positively radiated from the tip of her Ray Bans, to the soles of her Steve Maddens. There wasn't a scrap on her over priced, underdressed body that didn't scream "over-aged mall-rat". I wanted to take the pencil out of my hair, and pop her water balloon titties, but I settled for nodding, and waving her out of the store. She plunked her credit card down, and left, heading to the food court across the hall.

Just as she was out of earshot, the phone line began to ring. I smiled in vindication, until I realized that Rosalie's falsies were right in my line of vision. I started, and backed up three steps, keeping the phone pressed to my ear. The person on the other line began to identify himself, but Rose was talking at the same time, and I couldn't properly hear him.

"So, you're just gonna hang on the phone all night, bitch?" She asked, as if Emmett died, and made her boss.

"I'm sorry, sir, could you hang on for just a moment?" I asked apologetically, hoping and praying that he didn't hang up on me, and move onto the next caller, while I was putting her in her place.

"Rosalie, what's your fucking problem? Are you allergic to any, and all forms of work?" I asked loudly enough to garner the attentions of both Alice, and Jasper, who were hanging out by the Blues section. "If you do so much as one _tiny_ thing that's useful, do I need to stick an EpiPen into your thigh? Lucky for you, I'm allergic to shellfish, and carry one in my purse." Her crystal blue eyes widened in mute fury, and I thought for sure, that it was going to come to blows. If I beat up the manager's blow up doll, I was pretty sure I'd be in the unemployment line. She looked over my shoulder, at something in the doorway, and her posture instantly adjusted.

Just as I was about to resume pleasantly ignoring her, she started hissing, "Someone's _still_ waiting in classical, Bella!" I could hear the faint rustlings of laughter on the phone, but I couldn't quite process any more than the bitch in front of me.

"So get off your lazy ass and go help him!" I retorted tersely. "Can't you see I'm on the phone with customer relations? Jesus, Rose! Does it _look_ like I'm playing with myself over here?"

"Bella, do what you gotta do. Rose, stop being so catty, and get back to work." Emmett's voice boomed through the store, and I felt his hand rest heavily on my shoulder.

"Ma'am?" I heard over the phone, which had been dropped onto the counter sometime during my verbal spar with Crazalie. "Ma'am, if you're not able to come to the phone in another thirty seconds, I'll be forced to move on to the next call..."

"You know what?" I said into the line, no longer caring if BTR bitch lived or died with an extra 12.99 in her pocket. "Move onto the next call, I'd already decided the outcome to this story before it even happened.

BTR bitch came back about twenty minutes after Rose went on her lunch break, and about ten minutes after I blew a huge spitball into her coffee. "So?" She said hopefully, smiling at the fact that I was no longer on the phone. "You can give me my money back now, right?"

"Well," I said, shifting my body language to exude disappointment. "Actually, it was deemed that a refund was inappropriate because the merchandise was out of its original factory packaging, and was tested as fully functional. You're more than welcome to sell it back as part of our used collection, though."

"How much would I get for that?" She said between ground teeth. I immediately began to type the SKU into the computer, and nearly laughed at the price.

"You can either take it in the form of store credit, which would be six Real Music Dollars, or you can get 3.50 cash."

"That's an _outrage!_" She yelled, shaking her bony fist at me. "I'm-"

"Never shopping here again?" I finished, finally feeling bold enough to hopefully get her out of the store. "You'll tell all your friends to shop at FYE instead, right? Need the name of a good sky writer? The last customer who told me that had a pilot for a husband. I'm sure they could hook you up."

_"Ugh! I'll have your job, you stupid bitch!" She said, as she began storming out the door._

"For 7.50 an hour, I sure hope so!" I called back, smiling that I'd survived not one asshole, but two!

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><p><strong>Well? You like? We got stormed by a rabid pack of old ladies last week. I'm hoping to have that chapter posted soon. Read and Review!<strong>


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